


and in the heat

by figure8



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, idk how to tag this junmyeon is soft and pcy is useless i guess, once again this is feelings with porn WAY more than it is porn with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-06 23:54:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: Isn't this exactly how you want him to make love to you?





	and in the heat

**Author's Note:**

> there is a bigger story to this, and i really want to tell that story, so there’s a good chance i’ll be making it a series. but for now, it stands alone. 
> 
> title from good lust by keaton henson  
> enjoy <3

_And in the heat, clothed only in obscenity_ _  
_ _Hoping that reality_ _  
_ _Will not come and meet with me_ _  
_ _Too soon_   


 

It’s the color of Junmyeon’s voice, the warmth of it; how Chanyeol wants to climb _inside it_ and stay there, curled up and protected and _safe._ The gentleness—his hands firm on Chanyeol’s hips but _gentle,_ how he holds like a man in love, like Chanyeol is precious. And his kisses, his kisses taste like sugar, and they are slow. Taste like chocolate and peppermint, like that fancy hot drink they shared, like—

Chanyeol grinds down, uncontrolled, feverish. He feels drunk. He feels hazy. Junmyeon’s trail of kisses has drifted to his jaw now, lips tracing the angle teasingly, perfunctory. Fast, light, still so—

This isn’t how they usually do it. This isn’t how they usually fuck. _Sweet baby,_ Junmyeon murmurs against Chanyeol’s throat, grip tight in Chanyeol’s hair, _baby boy, beautiful, come on._ And Chanyeol shivers, seeks Junmyeon’s mouth with his own again, to—to shut him up, to move on. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. It feels crude to even think of it as fucking. They’re still fully clothed, Chanyeol straddling Junmyeon, just—just kissing, wanting, touching. It’s just touching, but it’s also… Chanyeol is on fire. He’s on fire and his mind is blurry and Junmyeon is still _saying things,_ in between kisses, calling him baby again and his voice is soft and awful, _awful._ He reaches for the tiny nacre buttons of Junmyeon’s nice dress shirt, too hasty to succeed at first, hands shaking. But then Junmyeon is wrapping his fingers around Chanyeol’s wrist, “I wanna take my time, baby. I wanna take my time today.”

“Please,” Chanyeol pleads. _Whines._ “Please, fuck me, hyung, can we—”

Move to the bedroom, he wants to say. Where you can throw me on your bed and take me, do whatever you want with me, hold me down, fuck me hard. Fuck me like you usually do. Fuck me like you don’t care.

It’s terrifying. The idea that Junmyeon might care.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Junmyeon says, voice infuriatingly _steady_ now. But also, kind? Chanyeol’s insides _twist._ “But first I want you like this. I want to go slow.”

 _Like this_ means making out like teenagers, apparently. _Like this_ means Junmyeon’s guiding hand, angling Chanyeol’s face the way he wants it, licking inside his mouth, slick and hot and messy and God, slow, just like he said, so _slow._ And Chanyeol is trying his best not to rut against him, not to be bad; but he wants so much, he wants _so much_ and he can feel how hard Junmyeon is too, and it doesn’t make sense. None of it does. Junmyeon has taught him patience before, has tied him to the headboard and teased him for what felt like hours, until Chanyeol was _crying;_ but none of that was—felt—

Languid. That’s the word. Fucking _tender._ His ribcage feels tight. He wants to stop, ask Junmyeon what the hell exactly is going on. He wants to _get off,_ too, more than anything at this point, he needs to _come,_ he needs Junmyeon to fuck him. _Sweet baby._

Chanyeol wants…

“I’d carry you to the bedroom if I could,” Junmyeon whispers in his ear. “But you had to go and grow into an actual giant.”

Chanyeol is practically certain Junmyeon _can_ carry him, if he really tries, but that brings on an onslaught of mental images he doesn’t need. And verbal jabs, those are familiar. Known territory. Good. Easy.

Nothing about this is easy. When they finally leave the living room behind, when the door closes, Junmyeon tells Chanyeol to undress and drinks him with his eyes, intense and intent and _dark._

“You’re my baby,” he tells Chanyeol softly, Chanyeol on his back and Junmyeon kneeling above him, hands planted on either side of Chanyeol’s head, breath hot. “You’re my baby.”

And it’s not a question but Chanyeol feels compelled to answer, compelled to comply. _Yes,_ hand on Junmyeon’s nape to bring him closer, _yes,_ lips on Junmyeon's lips to kiss him hard, kiss him filthy, kiss him open-mouthed. _Your baby, yours,_ unzipping Junmyeon’s pants, _your baby,_ back arching up when Junmyeon starts sucking and biting and licking his way down Chanyeol’s body.

And Junmyeon tells him he’s beautiful before taking Chanyeol’s cock in his mouth, and repeats it as he fingers Chanyeol open. The praise is sweet, sticky like syrup. _You take it so well, you’re always so good, you’re so good for me._ It’s a lie. He’s terrible for Junmyeon. They don’t fit together, like jagged puzzle pieces. Even in bed, where they fit _best,_ Chanyeol still doesn’t _understand._ But Junmyeon’s words are like tiny electroshocks on his skin, buzzing, lightening. And when he finally slides home, when he _finally_ starts fucking Chanyeol with his cock, Chanyeol stops thinking—cannot think. Can just lie there and take it like a good boy, like Junmyeon wants him to. The thrusts are sharp, brutal, _finally,_ finally _blissfully_ familiar, but the words are still tender, still awful. _Yeollie, sweet baby. Tell me how you want it. Tell me how you feel._

“Hyung,” Chanyeol calls out, raw. “Junmyeon, hyung, harder—please harder.” Want to feel it, want it to hurt.

The visual they display, he knows, is pretty. Is shameful. Chanyeol naked on his hands and knees, Junmyeon fully dressed, pants barely rolled down. Nothing domestic about it, he reassures himself. This isn’t how you make love.

“Yeollie,” Junmyeon says, panting, hoarse, draping himself over Chanyeol’s back, “Let go, let go, let hyung make you feel good.”

And as Chanyeol’s arms give out, as he collapses onto the soft sheets, and Junmyeon’s hold on the back of his neck tightens, the room filled with sounds of sex; the traitorous little voice at the back of his head asks _isn’t it?_

_Isn’t this how you make love? Isn’t this exactly how you want him to make love to you?_


End file.
